Street-Porter: 'My life as a nurse'

She loathes babies and swears like a trooper. So what happened when Janet Street-Porter spent two weeks in a maternity ward? You'll be surprised, shocked ... and, yes, moved

Sitting in the Australian jungle listening to Paul Burrell wittering on about Princess Diana and the Queen's problems with dog poo, getting bitten three times by snakes and having to cook crocodile for supper was a piece of cake compared to spending two weeks in Barnsley Hospital as a nursing auxiliary.

I also love a challenge - I've climbed Kilimanjaro for charity, spent a week in a mining village being taught Welsh from dawn till dusk and I've walked from Edinburgh to London in a straight line through bog, bracken and howling gales for a television series.

One of my philosophies is: try anything once. As you get older, there's nothing more ageing than getting stuck in a rut, doing the same

routine year in and year out.

A couple of years ago I took part in a television series for Five spending two weeks teaching the National Curriculum to eight and nine-year-olds in a state primary school in Cambridge with Shaun Williamson (Barry from EastEnders and star of Extras) and It-girl and single mum Tamara Beckwith.

My goodness, that was pretty demanding, and for weeks afterwards I dreamt I was being followed around by kids chanting: 'MISS, MISS, MISS!' at the top of their voices in order to get my attention.

But I found the whole experience thoroughly engrossing and it gave me a unique insight into all the problems faced by the teaching profession.

As a journalist, it gave me loads of stuff to write about, and viewers liked the show, too. So when the same programme-makers came back last spring and asked if I wanted to try my hand working as a nursing auxiliary in Barnsley District General Hospital, I leapt at the chance.

My sister had just been diagnosed as terminally ill with cancer (she has since died), so I wanted to see at first-hand how the NHS was coping with cash shortages, government targets and league tables - and also whether patients would suffer as a result.

Nurses have been engaged in a long battle with the Government over pay, and nursing auxiliaries -who assist nurses by cleaning, feeding and generally helping out - earn a measly average of £13,782 a year for working a 37 1/2 hour week.

But I was soon to find out just how many extra hours were involved and how few their breaks were.

Even after training and taking on the responsibility for people's lives, the average pay for a nurse or midwife is just over £21,300.

This is a profession where 90 per cent of the workers are female; contrast that with the police, 90 per cent of whom are male.

Average pay for the police is a whopping £31,800 - a difference of more than £10,000 a year for two of the most important jobs in the public sector. I soon began to understand why nurses feel so undervalued.

My two fellow nursing auxiliaries were comedian Sean Hughes (a great live performer and a Never Mind The Buzzcocks team captain) and television presenter Gail Porter.

I'd never met either of them before, but I'd seen the image of Gail's naked bottom projected on to the side of the Houses of Parliament in a stunt organised by a men's magazine - and I did wonder how anyone gets taken seriously after that!

I also knew she'd lost her hair through alopecia and seemed a very emotional, highly-strung person. I wondered how she would cope being on the front line in a busy hospital.

When we met on the first day of filming, Sean seemed incredibly laid back and Gail very anxious and eager to please. I think she found me a bit formidable.

But I realised that I was in Barnsley to work my guts out and not form new, beautiful friendships with my co-presenters.

As a former television executive I know what makes things tick on screen, so I wasn't at all surprised when they told me I was assigned to the labour unit and would have to help the midwives deliver babies.

Sean was sent to the children's ward and Gail ended up in A&E, so we all faced huge challenges.

It's got to be said, I lack the maternal instinct - I've had four husbands but no children. I'm OK with kids when they get past that tiny 'tadpole' stage and can walk and talk, but before that I find them a bit unnerving.

On the plus side, I don't mind cleaning up, I like chatting to people and don't get fazed by much. But nothing had prepared me for the hours when very little happened except mumstobe having irregular contractions.

If I nipped off for a cup of tea, the camera crew would be right behind me, making it look as if I was a slacker.

The first indoctrination day, when we were taken through all sorts of basic health and safety procedures, went without incident, although there was a tricky moment when I accidentally let off the fire extinguisher and sprayed the cameraman.

For some reason he thought I did it deliberately and had a complete strop - luckily, they've edited that bit out of the programme.

I was appalled when they said I would have to share a really small flat with Gail and Sean because he smokes. That was a total no-no.

I didn't mind living in the pretty grotty nurses' accommodation, but I wasn't sharing a loo with Sean Hughes.

The TV company had redecorated the flat we were meant to be bunking down in, bought a new sofa and installed coffee-making equipment, a telly and DVD player, and filled the fridge with food.

After my bid for freedom, I got a basic single bed, no living room or telly and a bathroom with peeling paint.

But I could close the door, climb between my own sheets, listen to my own music and lie in the bath without hearing anyone chatting.

After an eight-hour shift, my back was killing me and I craved a bit of solitude.

Before being sent to the labour ward, I did a stint on a general ward, bathing the body of a woman who had recently died. I was very impressed with the enormous respect the nurses showed. It was extremely moving.

Then I fed a lady in her 90s who was refusing to eat - there just aren't enough people to help out in hospitals and it's estimated that a very high proportion of elderly patients suffer from malnutrition because they can't eat unaided.

In this ward, there were only two nurses to 28 patients as well as a couple of nursing auxiliaries.

I could immediately see the problems that hospitals have when there are so many elderly patients (about twothirds of all the beds).

Many of these people shouldn't even be in hospital, but there is no one to care for them at home and a shortage of nursing homes.

My two midwife bosses on the labour ward were Jayne and Mary - wonderful women who really tried to help me get through the day.

They were so patient when I completely messed up putting on a new-born baby's Babygro - what a nightmare. I thought I would snap the little blighter's fingers off by mistake.

Then I was scared I would drop little Noah, only a couple of hours old, as I gingerly lowered him into his very first bath.

I soon got into the routine of wiping surfaces clean, wearing rubber gloves and aprons, and discarding all waste in special bins.

I was very impressed with the attention to cleanliness because MRSA has become something every patient is terrified of catching.

My days started at 7am or 9am, with a hand- over period between shifts. No matter how much attention I paid, I found the jargon completely mystifying.

The hospital had a checking-in procedure for expectant mums, and I was sent to meet the new arrivals and fill in the relevant forms.

I found it very hard not to be judgmental about some of the girls I was seeing - most had not attended a single ante-natal class, wanted to bottle-feed their babies and had no supplies of powdered milk at home.

I was taught how to sterilise bottles and prepare feeds, and then passed on my knowledge to some teenage mums. They just looked at me uncomprehendingly, which was a bit of a worry.

The parents of one girl who came in to have her baby seemed to have spent most of the day in the pub - they reeked of booze and clearly couldn't wait to get back there.

Another girl who was in the final stages of labour pleaded with me to be allowed outside for a cigarette break.

But I never heard one single word of criticism from the hard-working teams of midwives, including Jayne and Mary.

I wondered what kind of mums these girls would make - but I guessed you just had to hope for the best.

In the office was a list (written in secret code) on the wall of mums whose babies were going to be taken from them immediately after birth and placed in care for their own safety.

Either they had abusive partners or had mistreated their other children in the past. That was a real eye-opener.

Sometimes these women turn up and use a false name, hoping to be able to sneak away with their new child. I found that profoundly depressing.

But there were also loads of happy, well-balanced, proud, new mums who were in stable relationships and had planned their pregnancy.

Twenty-seven-year-old Debbie had two small children and was having a Caesarean section for medical reasons. I was thrilled to be able to assist during the birth.

After the surgeon delivered little Ruby Annie, I was allowed to clean the baby, cut the umbilical cord and hand her over to Mum.

Then I weighed Ruby and wrapped her in a shawl, covering her tiny head with a little knitted hat. I nearly cried - it was such a touching moment.

On my last shift, I was given the full responsibility to assist Jayne as we prepared to deliver another baby called Ruby. This time it was a natural birth for first-time mum Sam.

By now I was starting to feel part of a team - as she struggled with her labour, I persuaded Sam to walk up and down the corridor and sit on a birthing ball (rather like a space-hopper) when she began to feel like giving up and was getting exhausted by the pain of the contractions.

The end of my shift was only minutes away and I knew that most midwives regularly work up to an extra hour in order to be with mums right through the birth rather than hand them over to someone else.

What would I do in that situation?

At the start of the fortnight, I would definitely have headed for the door, shattered after eight hours with only a couple of ten-minute breaks.

But something weird happened as time went on - I stopped looking at my watch and got stuck in.

Sam produced Ruby, I cleaned up everything, inspected her placenta and looked back in to take her a cup of tea and wish her well. I'd stayed that extra hour. Maybe I was nursing material after all.

Next day Sam and her partner gave me a thank-you card and the other midwives sent me on my way with a cup of tea and a special cake.

I was really touched - even if the hospital boss got her revenge on me for my fire extinguisher escapade by telling me I'd never make a nurse. I knew that already, but at least I tried.

In my opinion, the NHS is overloaded with bureaucrats and understaffed on the wards.

How can two nurses care for 28 people properly? They are saints, believe me. And there is no doubt my life has been really changed by what I saw in Barnsley.

So You Think You Can Nurse? is on Wednesdays at 8pm on Five.

READ more of this article in the current issue of First magazine, out now.